Darkness
by insomniakitty
Summary: Follows the life of Clary's 17-year-old half-sister through City of Bones. Lillian Fray takes on the discovery of the Shadow World, her own mysterious past, and a surprising romance with a certain blondie. JacexOC.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1 – The Bright Night**

"Hey Clary, are you ready to go?" Lillian knocked on the door impatiently. "Clary?" There was no answer, so she just pushed her way inside. Clary was nowhere in sight, but she could hear the shower running.

Her little sister's bedroom was plastered with drawings. Her sketchbooks were arranged neatly in a row on a shelf, her current one, only half-filled, sitting on her desk. Ignoring what Lillian considered to be obnoxiously orange paint – how Clary slept with walls in such a bright colour, she'd never know – she made her way across the room.

The sketchbook was lying open, displaying a heavy graphite drawing of the city skyline. _This is really good_, she thought with a hint of pride. Lillian looked up through the window above the desk, where the only view was of the red brick of the next apartment over. And night was falling, a hazy dusk settling over the city, making even that difficult to see. She glanced back down at the sketch, wondering, not for the first time, how Clary came up with this stuff.

_And that's why I'm not an artist,_ she thought, shrugging. It didn't bother her. She liked her mother's and sister's art, but was content to express herself through different mediums.

"Hey!" The protesting cry made Lillian turn, and she found that Clary was finished her shower. Her pale, small-framed body was wrapped tightly in a towel, fiery red hair darkened by dampness.

Lillian had been around 12 years old when she'd first questioned their difference in appearances. In contrast to Clary's redheaded-ness, fully freckled and green-eyed, Lillian had wavy dark chestnut brown hair that was almost black and startlingly blue eyes against her olive skin tone. _Different fathers,_ Jocelyn had explained, leaving it at that. And while Clary had that picture of her dad on the mantel above the fireplace, there was no record of Lillian's father anywhere in the apartment. Now that she'd grown older, Lillian didn't bother asking; she'd learned enough of failed relationships, and Jocelyn had always been hesitant to talk about it. Besides, Lillian couldn't remember him, which meant he hadn't stuck around for long. Now the only man in the Fray family was Luke Garroway, a long time friend.

Clary was frowning in annoyance. "Get out of my room!" she said, scowling as she stalked over and flipped her sketchbook shut.

"Okay, I'm going, I'm going," Lillian said, backing out. "Just hurry it up, okay? I want to go. Move that petite little behind." Clary rolled her eyes, nearly closing the door in her face. Lillian started walking away, and a second later there was another knocking from down the hall.

"Lover boy's here!" Lillian shouted as she snatched her keys off the hook in the entrance.

"Shut up!" Clary called from her room. Lillian grinned to herself. She loved her little sis, but sometimes she was so much fun to tease. The smirk was still on Lillian's face when she opened the front door.

"Hey Simon," she said, stepping back to let him in.

"Hi Lily," he replied. "What's up?"

"Not much," Lillian said. "Clary's just getting dressed."

"Okay, I'll wait," he replied. Clary rushed in a few minutes later. Lillian watched as Simon's eyes went to her instantly. For a girl who could see so much in the world to draw, Clary missed some of the things right in front of her face. Lillian had brought it up once and Clary had adamantly denied anything but friendship between her and Simon. But how could she not _see?_

Anyway, Lillian liked Simon, so she wouldn't have a problem if – when – Clary dated him.

"Ready?" Lily asked, hiking her canvas messenger bag higher up on her shoulder.

"Yeah," Clary said, shoving her feet into her shoes.

"Bye Mom!" the sisters called in unison, hearing Jocelyn's muffled reply from the studio. Then the three of them shuffled out and down the hall, Lillian locking the door behind them.

"Let's go," Lily said, waving Clary and Simon forward. She glanced at her watch as they clattered down the stairs. _Shit, I'm going to be late_. The exited the building and piled into Lily's car, parked at the side of the building.

Lillian weaved in and out of the evening traffic. The city lights glowed eerily orange against the low-hanging clouds. They called New York the city that never sleeps; but Lillian knew that despite all the light, a certain _darkness_ existed. Somehow, she'd always known.

She pulled up to the curb in front of the club. It was all ages, a place called Pandemonium. Lillian knew Clary liked it, and of course Simon went along with her. Lillian didn't mind Pandemonium–she'd been there a few times with some friends–but it gave her a strange vibe, like there was that _darkness_ lurking beneath the surface.

"Thanks for driving us, Lily," Clary said.

"No problem," Lillian replied, meeting Clary's eyes for a moment in the review mirror. "I'll be back to pick you up at midnight."

As Clary and Simon climbed out of the car and called goodbye, a sliver of unease snaked through Lillian. She shook it off, glancing at the tiny clock on the dashboard again and hastily pulling away from the curb.

What Lillian happened to be late for was a martial arts class. Her fascination with martial arts had begun a while ago, around grade seven or eight when she was just 14 years old and a presentation had been held in the school gym. It hadn't been until grade nine when she'd finally acted on it, after gaining her new-found independence that came with graduating to high school. And after walking by Brooklyn Martial Arts Studio every day for a month on the way to school.

She still hadn't told Jocelyn.

Some instinct told her learning self-defence and methods of attack was not an extra-curricular activity her mother would approve of. It had been Lillian's little secret for three years running. Faking the signatures for the forms to sign up was easy, and coming up with the money only a smidge more difficult. Lillian remembered skipping lunch for three weeks before she had enough allowance to pay for it.

Since then Lillian had made friends with the owner of the studio and dabbled in a lot of different martial arts styles. Money stopped becoming a problem the moment she was hired. It was the perfect job, doing what she loved. Hiding it was hard sometimes, but Lillian always managed. It was easiest now because it was summer: she wasn't forced to work around a school schedule and dodge too many questions.

She pushed through the glass doors, her bag bumping against her thigh with each step. It was stuffed to the brim with her workout clothes and sparring equipment. She had an adult beginner class in tai chi to teach and then Josh had promised to show her something new, this thing called parkour.

She hummed a sweet, wordless melody as she changed quickly, another instructor walking in when she was almost done.

"Hey Erica, how are you?" Lillian asked, smiling at her. She liked her co-workers and got along with them all.

"Sweaty," the older girl replied, smiling back. "I just gave a private karate lesson." Lillian nodded, shoving her bag in her locker just as Erica was taking her stuff out. Lillian adjusted the strap of her sports bra before pulling her purple cotton tank top over her head. She'd had to start strapping down her boobs to play sports when she was fifteen, but she liked her curves, aside from the occasional minor inconvenience. She was tall enough that she didn't look too plump.

"See you later, Lily!" Erica said as she finished changing and waved goodbye.

"Bye!" Lillian replied. Giving herself one last critical glance in the mirror, she rolled up the waistband of her baggy sweatpants one more time before padding out of the change room barefoot, throwing her hair up into a pony tail swiftly as she got to her room. Josh was there, packing away kickboxing gloves.

"Hey Josh," she greeted him as she went to squat down on the floor beside the stereo that sat at the front of the room at the edge of the big mirrored wall and sift through the pile of CDs.

"Hey Lily," he said, looking up with a warm smile. His shaggy, dark brown hair was close to falling in his pale, blue-grey eyes. "You still want to stick around after your class?"

"For sure," she replied. He was a nice guy and she'd gotten to know him well in the past few months since he'd joined the team at the studio. He'd taught her a few kickboxing moves, which was what he specialized in. She watched his muscles move as he stood. _Definitely attractive, and carries himself like he doesn't even know it._ Yes, she would stick around.

"Trust me, you're going to love this," he said, walking by and reaching down to ruffle her hair. "Parkour is a lot of fun."

"You'll have to show me," she said teasingly, meeting his eyes in the mirror with a flirty grin. He grinned back.

"You bet," he said, just as the first person in her class walked in. "See you later, Lily," he said.

"See you, Josh," she said, pulling a CD out of its case and sliding it into the stereo and refocusing on the session ahead. Then she turned with a smile and started saying hello.

An hour later the women filed out of the room and Lillian reached to turn off the stereo, cutting the music short. She was just finishing rolling up the stretching mats when Josh walked in. It was almost ten o'clock, and all the other classes had long since finished. They were the last ones in the studio.

"Why don't we warm up with some light sparring?" he suggested, grabbing gloves and a pad. Lillian quickly got into the motions, muscle memory kicking in, and Josh started bracing himself against her blows.

"_Light_ sparring," he grunted as she hit the pad with a particularly strong right jab.

"Sorry," Lily said concernedly, stepping back and dropping her fists sheepishly. "I wasn't hitting that hard, was I?"

"Don't know your own strength, do you?" Josh replied with a question, smiling a bit and shaking his head.

"I guess not," Lillian murmured. It wasn't the first time someone had commented her on her strength. She wasn't a particularly violent person, but it felt good to work her body. That was probably why she'd tried so many different martial arts.

"Okay, I'm going to show you the basics now…" Parkour turned out to be a kind of running where the runner uses their surroundings to pull stunts, jumping and bouncing of off things in increasing levels of sophistication and risk. It didn't have specific rules or positions, just free-flowing movement, Lillian's favourite.

Time slipped by as Josh showed her how to front flip, then back flip. She learned quickly, smooth as a dancer. But along with the passing time came the sluice of unease again, washing through Lillian and curling in her stomach, ruining her good time with Josh. She was in the middle of a back bend and determinedly trying to ignore the feeling when her phone rang from her bag. She'd gotten her bag out of the locker room when her class had ended, and now it sat in the corner.

"Sorry," she said apologetically to Josh as she pulled it out to answer. "Hello?"

"Lily?" Clary's voice cut through the line, crackling with background noise, sounding metallic and _off_.

"_Clary_?" Lillian said, sharp with concern blooming from her unease. "Are you okay?"

"I-I'm fine," Clary said. "But can you come pick us up?" _She sounds shaken_, Lillian realized.

"Yeah, I'll be right there," she said reassuringly. "Wait for me near the doors."

"Okay."

Lillian snapped her phone shut and tossed it into her bag.

"I'm so sorry Josh," she said. "But I have to go." She pulled on her socks hastily. "Do you think you could lock up for me?" He nodded.

"That sounded urgent," he said. "Go."

"My little sister," Lillian clarified, and after a second's hesitation, threw herself in for a swift hug that he returned. "Thanks so much for staying late with me," she said. "I'm really sorry about this. Hopefully another time you can show me some more."

"For sure," he said, smiling a little. He opened his mouth to say something more, but she was already shoving her feet into her shoes, not even bothering to put on her jacket, the uneasy feeling spurring her forward.

"Bye Josh!" she called as she took off down the hall, his reply fading fast behind her. She burst out onto the street, her bag bumping against her leg and making her feel slow and unwieldy. She chucked her bag in the back seat of her car, twisting the key in the ignition and throwing it into drive. She peeled out of the parking lot, desperately trying to calm her pounding heart with deep breaths, forcing herself to slow down and not get impatient with the traffic choking the streets. _Why the hell do I feel so agitated about this?_ There had been something in Clary's voice, and some instinct in her that told her something wasn't _right_–

She pulled up to Pandemonium with a screech, flinging herself out of the car, ready to burst into the club when she stopped short. Clary stood only a short distance away, Simon in front of her. Lillian surged forward, pushing past Simon.

"Clary," she said, breathless, grabbing her by the shoulders. "Are you all right?" Clary's face was white, her eyes wide. Then she blinked and nodded.

"I'm fine Lily," she said, shaking her hands off. Simon shot Clary a look behind Lillian's back that Clary ignored. Lillian stepped back, feeling foolish. _Clary is fine._ _Of course she's fine._ Lillian had totally over-reacted. The feeling had subsided, sliding away. Lily could breath easy again.

"Are you sure?" she asked, just to be sure. Clary looked away, a weary sigh leaving her.

"Yes," she insisted. "Can we just go home?"

"Okay," Lillian said quietly. "Let's go." They all got into the car, and Lillian could hear Clary exchange a few whispered words with Simon before silence fell.

Lillian turned back onto the street, and the three of them took off into the bright night.


	2. Chapter 2

_Hey guys! So, I forgot to do this in the first chapter, but I must give credit where credit is due. The beginnings of this story and overall ideas are from a particularly EPICLY good outline that the AWESOME Cutiekyoto made, who requested for me to write this. So if you're enjoying this, you have her to thank! _

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 2 – Something Dark <strong>

Lillian woke to the loud, shrilling ring of the telephone through the apartment. She rolled over with a groan, reaching out blindly for the handheld landline sitting on her nightstand.

"Hello–" she started to say groggily, but was interrupted by the voice on the other line.

"Is this Clarissa Fray?" The male voice was vaguely familiar through the haze of sleep. Before Lillian could decline, she heard a female voice reply, "Yes?" and realized Clary had picked up the phone before her. Lillian tossed it aside, snuggling back under the covers. It had been a late night, especially since Jocelyn had freaked out at them for getting home late. Lillian felt terrible disappointing her mother, but Clary had just gotten angry, which didn't help the situation.

She still awaited the verdict of being grounded or not. Lillian knew she couldn't afford to get grounded, not when she had work tonight. She groaned again and hauled herself out of bed. Now that she'd been woken up, her brain was whirring, making it impossible to sleep again. Well, that and the sunshine that poured through her window. Not to mention the shout that came from the phone.

"ORGY IN HOBOKEN!"

Lillian shook her head and hung up the phone, preferring not to wonder about Clary's strange friends. She glanced at the clock, realizing with a start that it was almost two in the afternoon. Granted, she had fallen asleep at four in the morning, so she figured she'd earned most of a day in bed. She stretched as she walked across her room, opening her closet and digging through for something to wear. The summer sun was hot, so she threw on denim shorts and a cotton tank top, leaving her feet bare and hair loose. She walked into the living room just as Clary was hanging up the phone.

"Who was that?" Lillian asked, padding toward the kitchen for something to eat.

"Just Simon," Clary replied. Lillian heard the lock on the front door click as she opened the fridge and reached for the carton of milk and an apple. She almost laughed at the way Clary threw herself on the couch and picked up a book, attempting to look absorbed. This was a trick that Lillian had learned early and taught her – Jocelyn would rarely interrupt reading, even to dole out punishment.

"Smooth," Lillian muttered under her breath, and saw the corner of Clary's mouth twitch up in response. But it was Luke and not Jocelyn that pushed through the door. His arms were full of folded flat cardboard boxes.

"Hey Un–hey, Luke," Clary said. She still stumbled over not calling him Uncle Luke. Lillian had never had that problem, probably because she'd met Luke when she was a little older than Clary.

"Hi Luke," Lillian added.

"Hello girls," he said as he thumped inside. Lillian put down her food and moved forward quickly to take some of the cardboard from him. They set it next to the fireplace.

"Where's Mom?" Cary asked.

"Parking the truck," Luke replied, straightening with a groan. He was tall and lanky, wearing the same familiar old jeans and flannel shirt. Lillian reached out and straightened the gold-rimmed spectacles that sat askew on the bridge of his nose. He shot her a look and swatted her hand away, but she just grinned.

"Remind me why this building has no service elevator?" he said.

"Because it's old, and has _character_," Clary and Lillian responded immediately in unison. Luke grinned at them.

"What are the boxes for?" Clary asked nosily. Lillian noticed that Luke stopped smiling right away. She frowned but didn't get a chance to ask why because he was already answering Clary.

"Your mother wanted to pack some things…" Their voices faded as Lillian walked back to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of milk, picking up her apple and taking a bite. She walked back into the living room just in time to hear Clary.

"What would you do if you saw something nobody else could see?" she asked.

Lillian stopped cold, the question striking a chord deep inside of her. Apparently Luke felt something too, because he dropped the tape gun he was holding. It bounced against the tiled hearth of the fireplace, and he didn't meet Clary's eyes.

"You mean if I were the only witness to a crime, that sort of thing?" He spoke carefully. _No, of course not,_ Lillian thought. _That's not what she means._ Lillian knew exactly what Clary meant, but she had no idea how to put it into words. It was the malicious glint in stranger's eye as you passed on the street; that watched feeling, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up; the rustle of movement in a deserted alley late at night that made a chill walk down your spine… but something more than mundane New York City crime. Something _dark_.

"No. I mean, if there were other people around, but you were the only one who could see something…" Clary started to explain. Lillian stared at her. _Something happened last night._ The apple suddenly no longer tasted good in her mouth and she put it down, her stomach turning. She listened to Luke tell Clary that she saw the world through artists' eyes and there was nothing wrong with being different. But Lillian saw the flash of a memory behind Clary's green eyes and knew that this wasn't normal _beauty and horror._ Then Clary blinked and she just looked pensive.

"If my dad had lived, do you think he'd have been an artist too?" she asked. Luke looked shocked, and the moment of clarity broke in Lillian. Not another word was said as Jocelyn stalked into the room.

"Sorry it took me so long to find a space. There must be a million people at the park today–"

"Mom," Clary immediately interrupted. "What are the boxes for?"

Lillian saw that her mother looked exhausted, dark circles under her eyes. And she also looked… nervous. She walked over to the couch and sat down beside Clary.

"Is this about last night?" Clary asked.

"Clary," Lillian murmured warningly, not liking the sharp tone in her voice. Lillian was focused entirely on her mother, a sense of dread slowly building. Jocelyn met Lillian's eyes.

"No," she said, and then hesitated.

"Mom," Lillian started, trailing off. _Just say it._

"What's this about?" Clary asked insistently. "If you're grounding us, get it over with."

"I'm not grounding anyone," Jocelyn said, her voice tight as she looked at Luke.

"Just tell them, Jocelyn," he said. His expression was impassive.

"Could you not talk about us like we're not here?" Clary said angrily. Lillian remained silent, staring steadily at her mother. Clary had enough self-righteous indignation for both of them.

"We're going on vacation," Jocelyn said on a sigh. "All of us. You, me, Lillian, and Luke. We're going to the farmhouse." Luke was staring out the window with his arms crossed.

"For how long?" Clary asked.

"The rest of the summer."

"WHAT?" Lillian's voice shot out like the crack of a whip. "For _the rest of the summer_?" Clary immediately protested as well. Jocelyn looked at Lillian with a trembling expression, but her voice was firm when she told Clary she'd have to give up her art classes and back-to-school party with Simon.

"I need the peace, the quiet, to paint. And money is tight right now," Jocelyn explained.

_I can't leave halfway through the summer_, Lillian thought frantically. Her mind jumped to her work, her martial arts, her friends, Josh. She'd made commitments to these things, these people. Luke was watching her, his jaw clenched and a flicker of something passing through his eyes. She frowned, desperately trying to think a way out of this.

"No!" The sharpness of Jocelyn's tone broke through Lillian's thoughts. "I'll pay you back for the art classes, Clary. But you are _both_ _coming with us_. It isn't optional. You're too young to stay here on your own–"

"Mom," Lillian interrupted, hating that she had to go against her mother, hating that she was lying to her, even if it was just by not telling her something. "I have a life. I'm sorry, but I _can't_ leave, especially not now with such short notice. _Please_–"

"I'm turning sixteen, and Lillian will be _eighteen_ soon! We can take care of ourselves–" Clary spoke at the same time and Jocelyn replied heatedly.

"Something could happen–"

"Mom, _please_ rethink this–" Lillian cut in.

"Like what? What could happen?"

Their voices rose, each fighting to be heard, until–_crash!_ Luke had knocked over one of the framed pictures on the wall. He set it back, looking distinctly upset.

"I'm leaving," he announced.

"Wait," Jocelyn said, biting her lip and jumping up from the couch to follow him. Lillian's mind was still spinning. Her mother _had_ to see reason. Lillian was almost an adult; she could live by herself for the rest of the summer… There was a sinking feeling in her gut. She just had to convince Jocelyn.

A little scream interrupted Lillian's thinking and she heard Luke exclaim, "Jesus!" Lillian recognized the dark head of hair and his voice.

"Actually, it's just me," Simon said. "Although I've been told the resemblance is startling." Lillian nearly rolled her eyes. _Not the time, Simon,_ she thought, even though she was tempted to smile. He waved at Clary, who was still sitting on the couch, frowning. "You ready?"

Lillian turned away, walking back into the kitchen to throw her apple away. Her appetite was gone; her stomach felt as though it had shrivelled up at the thought of leaving Brooklyn so suddenly, upsetting her carefully constructed balance. She set down her cup of milk, untouched, her fingers cold from the chilled glass. She cringed when voices rose in the other room and her hand jerked when the door slammed shut, nearly knocking over the cup. _Clary,_ she thought despairingly, _always acting on impulse._

She walked tentatively back into the living room, hating the look on her mother's pale face. Simon and Clary were gone, and so was Luke. Jocelyn stood alone at the door, her hands clasped tightly together. Lillian took a breath.

"I'll go after them, Mom," she said, scooping up her bag.

"Thank you, Lillian," Jocelyn replied, sounding worried and tired, her shoulders slumped. Lillian paused before she left.

"Clary just needs time to cool down," she added. "But please rethink this vacation. Please, Mom." Jocelyn nodded, looking unsure. Lillian met her eyes one last time before sweeping out the door and breaking into a run to catch up to Clary and Simon. She met up with them in the foyer of the building.

"Do you have to be sarcastic about everything?" she heard Clary snap. Simon spluttered a response, but Lillian was already calling out to them.

"Clary, wait–!"

"Jeez, Lillian, did you _have_ to follow me? God!" Clary exclaimed, clearly irritated in that classic little sister way.

"Hey, I'm on your side!" Lillian said, responding automatically, that classic older sister tone creeping in. "Cool it!"

"Sorry, Lil," Clary muttered, lowering her challenging eyes apologetically. "I just–"

At that moment, Madame Dorothea's door swung open, interrupting Clary's response. Dorothea was an elderly woman who ran a psychic's shop out of her apartment on the floor underneath Lillian's. Lillian could smell a faint wisp of thick incense that came with the man that stepped out. He was tall, with maple-syrup-coloured skin, gold-green eyes like a cat's, and tangled black hair. There was something in his blinding grin of sharp white teeth that Lillian didn't like. He looked straight at Clary, and Lillian automatically reached to grab Clary. There was something _dark_ about him, and it was strong.

He turned his gaze on Lillian a moment later and a strange sensation passed through her. She shivered but stared back defiantly, her fingers closing protectively over Clary's arm. The man's grin melted into a frown, his eyes flicking over her face before they narrowed at her and turned on his heel, striding back into Dorothea's.

"Clary?" Lillian asked, peeling her eyes off the spot where the man's retreating back had disappeared, the door swinging shut behind him. She turned to her sister. Clary was white as paper.

"Are you alright? You look like you're going to pass out," Simon said, looking uneasy. He glanced at Lillian, but she was still watching Clary's face. Clary blinked.

"What? No, I'm fine?" she said, shaking off Lillian's arm. Lillian met Clary's gaze.

"Did you see…?" Lillian began.

"I thought I saw Dorothea's cat, but I guess it was just a trick of the light," she said. Lillian stared at her, her stomach flipping. _Dorothea's cat? _Lillian let her arm drop. "I haven't eaten anything since yesterday," Clary added defensively, stepping away from Lillian's intense probing gaze. "I guess I'm a little out of it."

Simon slid a comforting arm around Clary's shoulders. "Come on, I'll buy you some food," he said before looking over Clary's head at Lillian. "You coming?" he asked.

"Yeah," Lillian replied, casting one last glance back at Dorothea's doorway before following them out of the apartment.

Lillian lounged in a seat on the restaurant patio as Simon and Clary talked and ate. She watched the people come and go on the sidewalk, listening to the muted bustle of the city just a few steps away, her mind lingering on the strange man who walked in and out of Dorothea's. How could Clary not remember? Had she seen him at all? Simon hadn't seemed to notice the man either. Clary's own question came back to her: _What would you do if you saw something nobody else could see? _

Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she pulled it out, looking down from the steady stream of faces.

_Did you find them?_ Jocelyn's anxious text blinked on the screen.

_Yes,_ Lillian replied. _We'll be home later_. Clary had said something about a friend's poetry… Lillian didn't particularly want to go, but she wasn't going ditch Clary now. Plus, she had time to burn before work.

They left the restaurant and Lillian trailed after Clary and Simon, not wanting to infringe on their conversation. Once again she wondered how Clary didn't see how _in love_ this boy was with her. They were such close friends that Lillian thought they almost didn't need anyone else. It's not like Clary had many other friends anyway. Simon seemed to be enough for her. She shook her head ruefully as they pushed through the doors of Java Jones, keeping her distance. She didn't usually hang out with Clary and her friends.

There were two boys already onstage as Clary plopped down into an empty loveseat and Lillian took a chair nearby. She looked around for a moment, watching as Simon brought back coffee for himself and Clary. There was a burst of feedback a moment later, and Lillian cringed before pulling out her phone. She replied to a text from one of her girl friends, glancing up as one of the boys started wailing into the microphone. _Clary _knew_ this guy?_ She looked back down as her phone buzzed, and happily texted Josh back.

She had been thoroughly distracted when a derisive cough sounded behind her. There was a blonde boy a few seats behind Clary and Simon. He was lounging more than sitting, his mouth quirked in amusement. He had longish tousled fair hair that curled at the ends and tawny eyes to match. A ring glittered on a slim finger. He was wearing strange black clothes, his bare arms covered with faint white lines like old scars.

But he was staring right at Clary in a way Lillian _did not_ like, and she knew with conviction that he hadn't been there five minutes ago. Could she have not noticed him walking in, even though he would have gone right by her? There was something about him… Not something _dark_, but more of an air of being _aware_ of the darkness in the world.

As if he could feel her gaze on him, his head turned toward her sharply. He stared and narrowed his eyes, looking… _curious_. But Lillian realized that under the relaxed lines of his body, he was ready to move at a moment's notice at any time. He stood and headed for the exit unhurriedly, a certain grace to his movements. Lillian recognized that he'd been trained, probably in a variety of martial arts, uneasiness sliding through her stomach.

She kept her eyes on him until the door shut with the jangle of the little bell behind him, already raised halfway out of her seat and her whole body tensed. She glanced at Clary, and found her sister was looking in the exact same direction. _She had seen him too._ Lillian met Clary's eyes for the briefest second–and then Simon, looking exceptionally nervous, was saying something to Clary, something that pulled her eyebrows down and stole her attention despite the distraction.

The uneasy feeling wouldn't leave Lillian, even now that the boy was gone. She had seen him, and so had Clary… but no one else. _Simon hadn't seen him. Maybe _couldn't_ see him?_ Lillian had no idea, but she acted on impulse as she got out of her seat.

"I'll be right back," she mumbled in Clary and Simon's general direction, not noticing Clary's stunned expression or Simon's sickly-nervous-hopeful one. She walked quickly to the doors, pushing outside, the humid city air immediately pressing down on her.

His hair gleamed like brass in the flickering streetlight. He was slouched against the wall, punching buttons on something he'd just taken out of his pocket. She watched him cautiously, eyes flicking back and forth as the single pedestrian on the empty street walked by, not two inches away from him, without so much as a wayward glance. She glanced back at the nameless person but they hadn't registered the strange boy's presence at all. Her stomach flipped.

"Your friend's poetry is terrible," he said, looking up as the coffee shop door fell shut behind her. Lillian blinked, momentarily caught off guard.

"He's a friend of my sister's," she said, finding her voice quickly. "Who are you?" she demanded. "What were you laughing at? Why were you staring at my sister?" He raised an eyebrow at her hostile, rapid-fire questions.

"My name is Jace Wayland. I was laughing because declarations of love amuse me, especially when unrequited. And I was staring at your sister because she has a very interesting ability… one that you seem to share."

Lillian swallowed hard. _Clary can see him, I can see him, but no one else._ "How do you know Clary?" she asked.

"Clary," he repeated. "Like the herb, clary sage." _What the hell?_ "What's your name?" he asked.

"Lillian," she replied shortly, and he nodded slowly.

"I met Clary last night, actually, he said. "At a club called Pandemonium. She made a rather abrupt appearance while I was doing my job. She seemed to be a mundane like any other mundane, yet she could see me… She knew nothing, but I wonder if you do."

So _that's what had Clary so rattled the night before._ She'd seen Jace, and God knew what his _job_ was. Jace inspected her with his golden eyes, and she stood tall against his gaze, despite the shiver that rippled through her at his next words.

"What do you know of the Shadow World, Lillian?"

His voice caressed the words, and she had to steady herself. _The darkness._ No one had ever mentioned it before, so she'd thought it was just some strange instinct only she had. But now this boy…

"How come I can see you?" she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper. "How come me and Clary can see you but no one else can?"


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3 – Shadowhunter**

"Your friend's poetry is terrible," he said, looking up as the coffee shop door fell shut behind her. Lillian blinked, momentarily caught off guard.

"He's a friend of my sister's," she said, finding her voice quickly. "Who are you?" she demanded. "What were you laughing at? Why were you staring at my sister?" He raised an eyebrow at her hostile, rapid-fire questions.

"My name is Jace Wayland. I was laughing because declarations of love amuse me, especially when unrequited. And I was staring at your sister because she has a very interesting ability… one that you seem to share."

Lillian swallowed hard. _Clary can see him, I can see him, but no one else._ "How do you know Clary?" she asked. She was unsettled, to say the least, and she instinctively did _not_ want this strange boy having _anything_ to do with Clary. It was a fierce protectiveness.

"Clary," he repeated. "Like the herb, clary sage." _What the hell?_ Lillian, caught abruptly off guard again, wasn't sure what to say. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Lillian," she replied shortly, and he nodded slowly.

"I met Clary last night, actually," he explained. "At a club called Pandemonium. She made a rather abrupt appearance while I was doing my job. She seemed to be a mundane like any other mundane, yet she could see me… She knew nothing, but I wonder if you do." He was giving her a look, one that sent a shiver down her spine.

_So_ _that's what had Clary so rattled the night before._ She'd seen Jace, and God knew what his _job_ was. Jace inspected her with his golden eyes, and she stood tall against his gaze, despite the second shiver that rippled through her at his next words.

"What do you know of the Shadow World, Lillian?"

His voice caressed the words, and she had to steady herself. _The darkness._ No one had ever mentioned it before, so she'd thought it was just some strange instinct only she had. But now this boy…

"How come I can see you?" she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper. "How come me and Clary can see you but no one else can?"

"That's what I'd like to know," he said contemplatively. "Have you had dealings with demons, Lillian?" he continued softly. "Walked with warlocks, talked with the Night Children?" Lillian's breath caught as she stared at him, a raw lump of feeling building in her gut.

"What's your job?" she asked abruptly.

"What?"

"What's your job?" she said more strongly, her throat tight. _"What did Clary see you do?"_

Jace grinned, a feral smile that glittered.

"I'm a Shadowhunter."

"I kill demons. They enter this dimension to feed off of it, and my kind kill them to protect the mundanes. It's simple, really."

Jace was almost impressed by the look on the pretty girl's face. She had paled, but there was a grim determination in her features, underlined with a strange _knowing_, and surprisingly, no fear. Jace saw that she understood the existence of the Shadow World, consciously or not.

"Clary saw you… she saw you kill a demon."

He nodded, keen eyes taking her in. She bore no resemblance to the redhead sitting on the couch in the café, with her striking bright blue eyes and long, thick, wavy dark hair. She was older, that he was certain of; she almost as tall as himself and leanly muscled.

"What's a mundane?" she asked.

"Someone of the human world. Someone like you."

"But _you're_ human," she said sharply, eyeing him.

"I am," he said. "But I'm not like you." He wasn't defending himself. There was no need; he could see on her face that she believed him.

"Why are you here? What do you want with Clary?" she asked. She wasn't taking her eyes off him, and he could see the tension beneath her casual stance. _She knows how to handle herself,_ Jace thought curiously. _Like she's had training._

"I'm here because my tutor Hodge thought your precious little sister might be dangerous," he replied.

"Dangerous?" she said, looking at him darkly, raising an eyebrow. "Says the demon killer."

"I may be a killer," he said, "but I know what I am. Can you say the same?"

"I'm an ordinary human being, just like you said," she replied, her blue eyes narrowing.

"I wouldn't be so quick to brand myself as ordinary, if I were you," he told her, leaning forward. "Let me see your right hand." She held his eyes for a moment. _She doesn't trust me,_ he thought with a smirk. _Good. That's smart of her._ She reached out, hesitant but steady. He studied her smooth, tan skin for a moment. Her fingers were warm and lightly callused, like she worked; but there was no sign of any Marks. Still, Jace couldn't shake the sneaking suspicion that this girl had more than just ordinary human blood in her. "You're not left-handed, are you?" he asked, letting her go.

"No," she said, blinking and taking her hand back. "Why?"

"Most Shadowhunter children get Marked on their right hands–or left, if they're left-handed like me–when they're still young. It's a permanent rune that lends extra skill with weapons." He showed her the back of his hand.

"I don't–" she began, eyes going from his hand to his face and back again.

"Let your mind relax," he suggested, watching her carefully. "Wait for it to come to you…" He stopped when he saw her eyes widen.

"A tattoo?"

He smiled smugly. "I thought you could do it. And it's not a tattoo–it's a Mark. They're runes, burned onto our skin. Different Marks do different things. Some are permanent but the majority vanish once they've been used." She reached out and traced the thick black lines on the sensitive skin on the back of his left hand which he still held out, looking fascinated. She startled him; his hand tingled at her feather-light touch. He quickly recovered, lowering his hand.

"I knew you had the Sight, at least," he said, glancing up at the sky. The sun had dipped far below the buildings, and Hodge had wanted him back as soon as possible. _Oh well._ "It's nearly full dark. We should go."

"_We?_" she said sharply, head whipping up.

"Well, Hodge wanted me to get Clary, but I think you'll do," he said. Her eyes narrowed again.

"What do you mean? Why would your tutor want to talk to Clary _or_ me?"

"Because you know the truth now," Jace replied. "There hasn't been a mundane who knew about us for at least a hundred years."

"About _us_?" she echoed. "You mean people like you. People who kill demons. Shadowhunters." He liked the way she said it. _Shadowhunters_.

"Well, the Downworlders have less complimentary names for us," he said with a smirk.

"Downworlders?"

"The magical folk of this dimension," he replied, adding, "Hodge will explain more when you see him."

"What if I don't want to see him?" she said, her arms and legs looking subtly loose and ready. She slid back an inch towards the café door.

"That's your problem," he said. "You can come either willingly or unwillingly." He watched as her eyes hardened and she took a definitive step back.

"No–" She was interrupted by a strident buzzing in her pocket. She didn't move for a long moment, watching him. He kept his cool, casual stance.

"Go ahead and answer it if you like," he said. Her phone rang again and she slowly pulled it out to answer, never looking away. He met her gaze steadily.

"Mom?" she said, raising it to her ear. He watched as a prickle of alarm ran through her body, the voice on the other line sounding panicked.

"Its okay, Mom. Clary's fine, and we'll be on our way home soon–" Jace watched as her eyes widened and unfocused from him.

"Mom!" She raised her voice. "Mom, are you alright?" Her forehead creased with worry, her voice becoming slightly frantic as her gaze darted back to him for a split second, fear flashing for the first time in her blue, blue eyes. "_Who's_ found you? Mom, did you call the police? Did you–" She was cut off by a noise even Jace could hear–a harsh slithering followed by a dead thump.

"Mom!" Lillian shouted again into the phone, her voice rising frantically–

But the phone went dead.

"Mom!" Lillian knew her voice was rising irrationally, and tried to calm herself. "Mom, are you there?" She heard nothing as she pressed the phone tightly to her ear, and when she pulled back the screen read _Call Ended._

"Lillian," Jace said. Her head snapped up from the sound of her name on his lips. "What's going on?" Lillian didn't reply, turning away and dialling again. Dread crawled in the pit of her stomach, and she clenched her free hand into a fist when it shook. There was no answer except the double-tone busy signal.

"Dammit!" Lillian cursed, fighting down the rising panic. _Something is very wrong._ She gripped her phone tightly, pressing redial with sweaty fingers and getting the same result.

"Lillian," Jace said again, reaching out to grab her wrist and turn her back towards him. "Has something happened?" Anger flooded Lillian, and she tore herself out of his tight grasp with so much strength that he took a stumbling step forward to steady himself, his tawny eyes had widened considerably.

"Don't touch me!" Lillian shouted, realizing her mistake of putting her back towards him. The words beat in time with her pounding heart in her head: _Something is wrong. Something is very wrong._

"Lil?" Clary's voice spoke up behind her and Lillian whirled around again, careful to keep Jace in her peripheral vision. Clary looked shocked and troubled. Jocelyn's parting words jumped to her mind: _Keep your sister safe._

"Clary," Lillian said urgently. "We've got to go." But Clary was looking past Lillian, her expression becoming one of curiosity and cautiousness as she looked at Jace. Jace had resumed his oh-so-casual unruffled stance. He glanced at Clary and then back to Lillian.

"Clary!" Lillian said again, more sharply as the blind panic bit at her heels. "Mom called–" Lillian began, breaking off and swallowing. _Something is very wrong._ "We've got to get home." Clary turned to her and saw Lillian's face, something changing in her own.

"What's going on?" she asked, eyes darting all around. "Why's your phone on the ground?" Lillian scooped up her phone from where it had fallen out her grasp and skittered across the pavement when she'd pushed Jace.

"Nothing," Lillian replied briskly, taking Clary's wrist, almost the way Jace had grabbed _her_. "But we have to get home. _Now_."

"But–" Clary's protest died on her lips at the look on Lillian's face. Lillian had started to pull Clary away when Jace slipped in front of them, effectively standing between them and their apartment.

"Tell me what happened first," he said. "I can _help_ you." Lillian let Clary go, shoving her sister behind her. Jace narrowed his eyes but by that time Lillian's hands were already flying up and slamming into his shoulders, knocking him back.

"Leave us alone," she growled, stalking right past with Clary in tow, heading home.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4 – Demons**

The night had gotten hotter, and running home felt like swimming as fast as she could through boiling soup. Clary stumbled along behind her, her wrist still in Lillian's grasp.

"Lillian, stop," Clary said, stumbling. "Why are we running? Slow down! Ow, you're hurting me!" Lillian slowed and relaxed her grip, taking her stiff, cramping fingers off Clary's arm. Clary glared reproachfully, rubbing the red finger-marks on her skin.

"Sorry," Lillian said, jittering impatiently up and down on the balls of her feet as they got trapped at a DON'T WALK sign. She watched the cars race past, oblivious to her conflict.

"So… you saw him," Clary began hesitantly. Lillian nodded.

"Yeah, I saw him," she said shortly, and nothing else. The sign flashed to WALK, and Lillian jolted forward. Clary jogged to catch up.

"Why do we have to run home?" she said with annoyance. "I didn't even say bye to Simon…" Clary trailed off, looking down. _Something happened with him,_ Lillian immediately recognized, groaning internally. _Way to pick the worst time to express your feelings, Simon._

"Lillian?" Clary said again. Lillian nearly sighed in frustration. She wanted so badly to talk to Clary about everything, about Simon and Jace, about Shadowhunters and love, but now was not the time. Not when this strange fear was bubbling up. Now when _something was very wrong._

"Sorry, Clary," Lillian replied. "I just… Mom called me, and I just have a really bad feeling." She couldn't explain it, speeding up as they turned onto their street. The second-floor windows were lit, the usual sign that Jocelyn was home. But that did little to comfort Lillian, and she could see the same feeling rising on Clary's face. Lillian's stomach tightened as she stepped over the entryway.

The overhead light was burned out, and the foyer was in darkness. The shadows seemed full of secret movement. A shiver passed through her as she started for the stairs.

"And just where do you think you're going?" said a voice. Clary jumped, whirling around in surprise. Lillian reached out a hand and took her am, gently this time.

"Sorry, Madame Dorothea, but we have to go," Lillian said firmly, dragging Clary with her and leaving Dorothea's complaints behind.

"Your mother has been making a god-awful racket up there…"

"Sorry!" Lillian called back, climbing up the steps, Clary right behind her. She slowed in the hall, apprehension running through her.

The apartment door was unlocked, hanging slightly open, spilling a wedge-shaped shaft of light onto the landing. All the lights were on inside, the brightness burning her eyes.

"Mom?" Lillian called out cautiously. "Mom, we're home."

There was no answer. Walking into the living room, Lillian saw the windows were open, the gauzy white curtains flapping like restless ghosts in the breeze. The whole place was ransacked; cushions and pillows had been torn off the sofa, scattered and torn, spilling cotton innards. Bookshelves were tipped, the piano bench on its side and spilling music books. Nothing was missing, but everything was destroyed.

"Oh God," Clary breathed behind Lillian. Lillian watched as she reached out to one of Jocelyn's paintings. They had all been shredded, their frames like gaping mouths with ragged, drooping canvas teeth.

"_Mom_!" Clary shrieked. "_Where are you? Mommy!_" Lillian could see the panic and fear hitting Clary, and she took her by the shoulders.

"Shhh," Lillian said soothingly. "It's going to be fine. We'll find her." Clary took deeps breaths, staring into Lillian's eyes like she desperately wanted to believe her. Lillian's stomach was flipping, her heart pounding; she hoped to God she was right.

They cautiously explored the house, going from the upturned kitchen to the hall and into Jocelyn's seemingly untouched bedroom. Out from a picture on the dresser stared Clary's five year old face, a gap-toothed smile framed by strawberry hair, sitting on happy eight-year-old Lillian's lap, her dark hair cut in a short bob, blue eyes sparkling.

The silence was deafening.

Then a noise sounded through the apartment, one that raised the hairs on the nape of Lillian's neck. A thud and a dragging slithering, coming toward the bedroom. Lillian heard Clary's breathing catch, her own stomach contracting with terror as she turned to face the door.

For a moment she felt weak-kneed relief. There was nothing there. Then she looked down.

It was crouched on the floor, a long, scaled creature with a cluster of flat black eyes set dead center in the front of its domed skull. Something like a cross between an alligator and a centipede, it had a thick, flat snout and a barbed tail that whipped menacingly from side to side. Multiple legs bunched underneath it as it readied itself to spring.

Lillian heard Clary's shriek, loud and grating in her ears. She reached and dragged Clary back just as the thing lunged. They both staggered back, sprawling on the floor in a tang of limbs and rolling away just in time. It missed them by inches, sliding along the wood floor, its claws gouging deep grooves. They both stumbled to their feet as fast as they could, terror making their limbs clumsy.

"Run!" Lillian shouted, shoving Clary towards the hall. But the thing was too fast, leaping and clinging to the wall above the door, where it hung like a malignant spider. It stared down at them, opening its jaws slowly, showing a row of fanged teeth spilling greenish drool. Its long black tongue flicked out with a gurgle and hiss.

Lillian realized with horror that the noises it was making were _words_.

"_Girls_," it growled. "_Flesh. Blood. To eat, oh, to eat._"

Clary froze as it began to slither slowly down the wall, claws digging into the plaster. Lillian scrambled, still on her knees, to get up in time. Her heart pounded up in her throat.

"Clary!" she screamed. "MOVE!" The thing was still talking, and Clary had backed up right to the wall, seizing a picture of the four of them on Coney Island–their family: Jocelyn, Clary, Lillian, and Luke–and chucking it at the monster. It bounced off its midsection, the glass shattering, and it kept going right for Clary.

Lillian didn't think–she just reacted.

With a warrior cry she didn't know she had, she threw her herself at the monster, colliding with it in a full-body tackle. Insect-like legs scraped against her sides with a feeling that made her skin crawl, tearing her shirt. She tumbled to the floor with it on top of her, her head and shoulders slamming down hard. The smell was overwhelming, nauseating, its slimy, oppressive weight making her want to gag.

Its hot breath stank of blood, and it was moaning again, "_To eat, to eat. But it is not allowed, to swallow, to savour._" Lillian struggled to breath, her body pinned down. Her mind raced with everything of martial arts that she'd learned at the studio over the past three years. She could hear Clary screaming in the background, saw out of the corner of her eye that Clary was chucking one book after another off Jocelyn's nightstand next to the bed at the creature, but it did no good. Lillian worked her arms free desperately as stinging drops of hot, acidic saliva burned the skin of her face and throat. "_Valentine will never know…_"

"Get OFF!" she shouted, heaving with all her strength and upending the creature. It rolled onto its back with a screech, multiple legs wildly churning in the air.

"Clary," Lillian said, as she struggled to her knees. Clary's face was white as snow, her eyes wide, her chest heaving with erratic breathing. "Go!" Lillian cried, trying to catch her breath.

"Lillian," Clary gasped, reaching for her, staring at the spreading warm dampness where the thing's claws had scrabbled against her torso and tore her shirt.

"GO!" Lillian ordered again more urgently, waving Clary forward with one hand. "I'm right behind you." _That thing won't stay on its back forever._

With that in mind, Lillian didn't move after Clary right away. Her fingers had closed around a large, sickeningly sharp shard of broken glass. It bit into the palm of her hand, but she hardly noticed. Crawling forward, she sank the glass into the thing's soft, unprotected underbelly. It hissed, gurgling as it strained to curl up like a pill bug, black blood gushing from its mouth as it twitched.

That's when Lillian allowed herself to think about what the thing was, as it lay dying in front of her.

_A demon._

A long second later, Lillian pulled away from it, stumbling to her feet. Time seemed to speed up suddenly, leaving her behind. The demon gave one last nerve spasm without warning, its whole body jerking as the barbed tail flew up, the stinger shooting from the end. Lillian cried out in warning as it whistled through the air, but it was too late. It slammed heavily into the back of Clary's skull as she tried to run away, and she collapsed forward.

Lillian pulled herself to her feet, feeling like she left her stomach on the floor. _She isn't moving._ She rushed towards her sister, her heart pounding painfully in her chest.

"Clary," Lillian said, touching her back. "Clary?" There was a trickle of blood in her hair. Lillian rolled her over gently. Her body was limp, her eyes closed. Lillian leaned over her, pressing her trembling fingers to her throat. "Please," she whispered, her voice breaking. She breathed a deep sigh of relief when Clary's warm breath touched her face and her pulse beat steadily. "Thank you," she said, shutting her eyes for a long moment. She had no idea who she was thanking but she said it anyway. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me; you killed it."

Lillian's head snapped up, her eyes flicking open. The familiar blond stepped inside the room, silent and graceful as a jungle cat. He held an oddly translucent blade loosely but firmly, like a professional. His bare arms were laced with patterns of black ink, matrixes of swirling lines. _Runes_, she remembered. His eyes scanned the room and alighted on Lillian on her knees next to Clary and then shifted to something beyond them.

Following his gaze with a glance behind her, Lillian watched as the dead demon crumpled, folding in on itself and growing smaller and smaller until it vanished entirely.

"They return to their home dimensions when they die," Jace said, walking forward and crouching on Clary's other side. Broken glass crunched under his boots. "All demons do, not just Raveners," he clarified. She nodded, the adrenaline draining out of her. Nothing Jace said was possible. But then again, she'd known he'd always been telling the truth.

"C'mon, we have to get out of here," he said, sliding the blade through his belt.

"But Clary–" Lillian immediately protested, and Jace just slipped his arms underneath Clary and swung her up into his arms.

"The Ravener was half-dead so it wasn't much of sting, but we still have to get her back to the Institute," he said. Lillian didn't question for once, and followed him as he strode down the hall, down the stairs and through the foyer, right out the front door. The apartment was eerily silent again. But as soon as they hit the sidewalk, white police cars came screeching around the corner with lights flashing, the wailing sirens rising in pitch like the scream of a terrified child. Jace cursed under his breath and turned abruptly, ducking into the shadows of the side of the building and slipping around to the back with Lillian close behind.

"Jace," she hissed to him through the darkness. "It's the police. They'll help us! My mom…"

"There's nothing they can do," Jace replied. "Somebody probably heard you screaming and reported it. Ten to one those aren't real police officers. Demons have a way of covering their tracks." Glancing behind her, swallowing hard as the beam of a flashlight caught the edge of the apartment. When she looked back at him he was watching her; his hair gleamed pewter like the washed-out stars, his eyes looked silver in the moonlight.

"We have to get out of here. Can we go through the alley?" he asked.

"It's bricked up. There's no way out," she told him, her eyes continually looking down at Clary. Her face was pale; her body looked even tinier than usual in Jace's arms. "Will she be okay?"

"She'll be dead in an hour if we don't get back to the Institute," he said bluntly. He looked behind him one last time at the dead-end alley and then kneeled down on the grass, laying Clary down gently.

"What are you doing?" Lillian exclaimed. "If she's dying, we have to go!"

"And how do you propose to get by _them_?" he said, gesturing to the police with one hand as he pulled something sharp and silver off his belt with the other. It was a long, luminous cylinder, as thick around as an index finger and tapering to a point. "My stele," he told her as he took it to the white skin of the inside of Clary's arm. He drew a black inked symbol like the ones covering his bare arms, a set of overlapping circles, before she could utter a word.

"What–!" she began sharply.

"I'm not hurting her," he said. "I'm trying to help." Lillian stopped, watching suspiciously. Clary didn't show any sign of waking up. His words played on her mind: _She'll be dead in an hour…_

"Jace, you'd better not–"

"Come here," he ordered when he was done.

She hesitantly knelt on the other side of Clary and he reached for her, taking her arm and turned it over. She felt the stinging kiss as he touched the stylus-like object to her skin just below the fold of her wrist, inking her with the same rune before she could jerk away.

"What–?"

"That'll hide you," he said. "Temporarily." He studied her face for a moment, and she returned his gaze steadily before starting to her feet and saying, "Let's go." The sight of Clary's pale, motionless form lying limply on the grass was making her anxious. Not to mention the fact that she still had _no clue_ where their mother had gone.

Jace scooped up Clary again, creeping down the side of the building, over to the corner. Lillian followed closely, peering over Jace's shoulder. She was near enough to feel his warmth, watching as the officers came up the path. He smelled of dirt, blood, and metal. Lillian caught a glimpse of skeletal hands sharpened to bone points at the fingertips, her stomach tightening. She turned all her attention to getting her little sister out of this alive.

"Follow me," Jace breathed over his shoulder at her. She spotted the break in the swarm of demon police, bursting into motion behind Jace. They slipped by unnoticed, to Lillian's relief. "C'mon," Jace said as they made their way down the street. Clary coughed weakly and he cursed, picking up his already brisk pace.

"Where are we going?" Lillian asked when they were far enough away from the apartment that the sirens were fading echoes. Jace led her through the shadowy labyrinth of New York City streets, moving deeper and deeper into the heart of the city. It wasn't long before Lillian was hopelessly lost. If Jace decided he didn't want to help them, she'd have a hell of a time finding her way back. Not that she even really wanted to go back, with her home swarming with creatures that shouldn't exist.

"The Institute," he replied. "It's where Shadowhunters get trained. It's where I live."

"Where you live," she repeated dumbly. The idea of Jace in any type of home setting didn't really work in her head.

"Hodge will be able to help your sister," he said, "but don't expect a warm welcome."

"What do you mean?" she said, narrowing her eyes at him.

"I told you there hasn't been a mundane past these doors in over a hundred years," he answered. "And the laws have only gotten tighter." That was when Lillian looked up and realized they were standing in front of a massive cathedral. It seemed to have sprung up out of empty space. Lillian blinked and craned her neck back to look up at the spires reaching into the night sky.

"This is the Institute?" He was looking at her curiously, with a tinge of satisfaction. She nearly rolled her eyes, smiling faintly for the first time that night. "Yes, I can see it," she said. Jace smirked faintly back before he turned his gaze to the thick oak doors bolted shut in front of him. He leaned against them with the skin of his bare arm against the wood, muttering a few words and pushing as they swung open silently. The interior was full of shadows, swallowing him up as he walked in. But he was still carrying Clary, and Lillian hesitated only a moment before stepping inside.


End file.
